. 



S 635 

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Copy * 



The 
Rhodes Scholar 



BY 



ROBERT CAMPBELL. 




PRICE 25 CENTS 



Eldridge Entertainment House 

Franklin, Ohio 



• .---- .- .-■•■_ • 

.. - ... 

TWO PLAYS FOR BOYS 

By SEYMOUR S. TIBBALS. 

Mr. Tibbals has been unusually successful in fur- 
nishing boys' plays that introduce' characters true to 
life. While the plays are strong and forceful in the 
lessons they teach, clean comedy predominates and 
the boys like them. 



*t 



"The Millionaire Janitor 

A comedy in two acts. Here is a rollicking play 
for eight or more boys with plenty of action. Just 
the thing for a Boys' Class or Junior Y. M. C. A. 
Easily staged and costumed. Opportunity for intro- 
duction of musical numbers and recitations. By in- 
troducing such features the play may be used for 
an entire evening's entertainment. 

Price 25 Cents 

"Up Caesar's Creek" 

A splendid play for any number of boys. The 
characters are real boys and the play^ deals with their 
experiences while camping up Caesar's Creek the per- 
formance closing with a -minstrel show in camp. Cos- 
tumes and scenery are not elaborate and the play may 
be produced on any stage. 

Price 25 Cents 

These comedies are protected by copyright, but 
permission for amateur production is granted with 
the purchase of the book/ 

ELDRIDGE ENTERTAINMENT HOUSE 

Franklin, Ohio 



The Rhodes Scholar 



A College Drama in 4 Acts. 



By ROBERT CAMPBELL 



Copyright, 1915, Eldridge Entertainment House 



ELDRIDGE ENTERTAINMENT HOUSE 

FRANKLIN, OHIO 






CAST OF CHARACTERS 

Henry Barker, a Senior and the Rhodes Scholar. 

Mr. Otis Barker, Father of Henry. 

Hiram Jenks, a New Boy from the Rural District. 

Mr. Silas Jenks, Father of Hiram. 

Jack Williams, a Sophomore who is wise to the ways 
of the World. 

Ralph Waldo Montmorcy, a Dude. 

Billy, a Small Boy with Original Ideas. 

Miss Nell Andrews, Mrs.. Miles' niece and Billy's sister. 

Miss Mame Binks, a Maid of All Work. 

Mrs. Susanna Jane Miles, an Impressionable Widow 
and Keeper of the Boarding House. 

Miss Berta Morris, an Athletic Girl. 

Mary Philips 

Ruth Carroll Two College Girls. 

Place — Clinton College. 

Time — The first Zy 2 months of school. 

Time in Presentation — About two hours. 



QQI.D 4259S 

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DEC20i5 iJ 



COSTUMES AND PERSONALITIES 

Henry Barker — Slender, medium height, rather dash- 
ing. Act I — Light suit of a late model; hat; suitcase. 
Act II — May wear same suit as in Act I; cap, carries 
school books. Act III — White jersey; white flannel trou- 
sers ; school cap. Act IV — Black suit. Henry should at 
all times be dressed very well, and in the height of fash- 
ion. Careful attention should be paid to shoes, hose, ties, 
etc. 

Otis Barker — Very, dignified, and with a cultured, schol- 
arly air. Represented as being about 55 years of age. 
Gray hair. Dark, well fitting suit ; black hat ; cane. 

Hiram Jenks — Fat, awkward. Very "countryfied" in 
Acts I and II ; complete transformation in Acts III and 
IV. Act I — Checked suit of an old model, a size too 
small; high standing collar; bright red tie; very heavy 
shoes ; small straw or felt hat. Carries carpet bag. Act 
II — Costume same, with possible slight alterations. Act 
III — Dressed in the height of college fashion; latest 
model suit; collar, shoes, etc. Very "sporty." May wear 
white flannel suit and school cap. Act IV — Dark suit of 
the same late cut. 

Silas Jenks — Exaggerated farmer type. Tall, spare, 
age about 50, gray hair, goatee, raspy voice. Should 
wear black coat of ancient pattern, gray trousers, high 
collar, bright tie, heavy shoes, old hat. Carries carpet 
bag. 

Jack Williams — Dashing, self-important, "sporty." 
Dressed at all times in the height of college fashion. 

Ralph Waldo Montmorcy — Small; has very afifected 
air; talks with English drawl and lisp. Act III — Wears 
tennis costume; carries racquet. Act IV — Dress suit; 
carries monocle. 

Billy — Small, represented as being 11 or 12 years old. 
Dressed in ordinary costume. 

Nell Andrews — Pretty, something of a coquette. Act 
I — Pretty morning gown. Acts II and III — School cos- 
tume; carries books. Act IV — Party dress. 



Maine Binks — Slangy, chewing gum type. Acts I, II 
and IV — Regular maid's costume, including apron and 
cap. Act III — Street dress of clashing colors ; very flashy. 
Hat in keeping; long gloves and parasol. 

Mrs. Miles — Age about 40. Dressed in rather old- 
fashioned style, especially in Act IV, where a prim, tight- 
fitting black should be worn. 

Berta Morris — Breezy, athletic type. Act III — Tennis 
suit ; carries racquet. Act IV — -Party dress. 

Mary, Ruth — Party dresses. 



The Rhodes Scholar. 



ACT I. 



Time — The opening of the scholastic year. 

Scene — The parlor of the boarding house. 
Mame is discovered on the stage busily engaged 
in dusting the furniture and chewing gum vig- 
orously. 

Mame. Well, another one of these here college semes- 
ters is opened up, which jist means that I'll have to work 
about twict as hard as any ordinary self-respectin' lady 
would do. Say, I wonder what sort of a kindergarten 
of innocents we'll have a-hanging out here anyhow. 
(Pause, during which she strings the gum out of her 
mouth and gathers it back.) I wonder if any of them will 
get sweet on me. (Gum action.) They most gener- 
ally do. But I never could keep a college beau very 
long, — men is so fickle. (Very brickly as she resumes 
her work.) Well, I do hope and pray that that fresh 
Jack Williams don't come* back, nohow. He was decent 
enough at first, and used to bring me candy and flowers 
and take me to the picture show and all, but after a while 
he got so hateful and stuck-up that he gave me a tired 
feeling. If there's anything on earth — . 

(Enter Jack, R.) 

Jack. Why hello, Mame. Glad to see you old girl. 
Looks natural for you to be around. (Walks over with 
outstretched hands.) 

Mame. (Rising from her stooping position and re- 
gar ding him with a freezing stare.) I would appreciate 
it exceedingly, Mr. Williams, if you would address me 
as Miss Binks. 

Jack. Oh, why Mame — . 

Mame. And the less you address me at all, sir, the 
better I would be pleased. (Resumes work vigorously.) 



6 The Rhodes Scholar 

Jack. (Laughing.) All right, Miss Binks. You have 
no idea how it pains my poor heart to receive such a cold 
reception after being away all summer, but I guess I 
will live through it. Tell Mrs. Miles that I'm fixing my 
room up. Ta-ta. 

(Exit L. y throwing her a kiss.) 

Mame. Well of all fresh creatures that thing is just 
about the limit. 

(Ring at door bell.) 

Mrs. M. (Off stage). Mamie-e-e, oh, Mamie. 

Mame. Yes Mam. 

Mrs. M. Answer that door bell. 

Mame. (Hastily arranging dress and hair.) Yes, 
Mam. 

Mrs. M. And if anyone wants me, tell them Til be 
down in a few minutes. 

Mame — Yes, Mam. 

(Exit, R.) 

(Re-enter Mame, R., with Mr. Silas Jenks and son, 
Hiram.) 

Mame. Mrs. Miles she'll be down in a little while; 
have a seat. 

(Exit, L.) 

Silas J. (Carefully adjusting his son's tie, smoothing 
dozvn his hair, etc.) Now look here, son, I ain't never 
had no edication, but Brother Jones he says as how it's 
a absolute necessity for the risin' generation, so I want 
you to git one, do you hear. 

Hiram. Yes, Pap. 

Silas J. Git everything that's comin' to you and every- 
thing you need, and jist so long as you don't waste noth- 
ing I guess I can foot the bills. I don't reckon I'm Com- 
mitteeman of Possum Center for nothin', by Heck. 

(Voice approaching, singing. Enter Billy L.) 



The Rhodes Scholar 7 

Billy. Huh dee. 

Silas J. How dee do, little man. 

Billy. Howdy, are you all going to board here? 

Silas J. Hiram he's goin' to school and I want him to 
stay here. Think you'll like him? (Billy looks at Hiram, 
but does not answer.) 

Hiram % Well, why don't you say? 

Billy. Aunt Jane spanks me when I tell stories, and I 
don't want to hurt your feelings. Aunt Jane will be 
down in a minute.- She's putting on her hair. She 
always takes it off when she goes to bed. 

(Enter Mrs. M., L., in time to hear this last speech.) 

Mrs. M. William Edward Andrews, leave the room at 
once, sir. 

Billy. But, Aunt Jane, you told me to always enter- 
tain folks when I found them in the parlor, and — . 

Mrs. M. That will do; you may go. (Exit Billy, L.) 
Good morning, sir; you'll have to excuse Billy. He's 
one of my greatest trials. During my poor dear hus- 
band's lifetime he was not so hard to manage, but now 
I sometimes wish I had not taken him to raise. But you 
must pardon me, sir; I should not trouble you with our 
family affairs. You wish to see about finding board for 
your son? 

Silas J. Wall, yes Mam. Silas Jenks is my name, 
Mam; Silas Jenks of Possum Center, and this here is 
my son, Hiram. (They exchange greetings and are 
seated.) Parson Jones he 'lows as how a edication's a 
indispensability these days. He says take a chap and edi- 
cate him and he'll get so's he can do most anything. 

Mrs. M. (Sighing deeply.) That's what my poor, 
dear husband used to say. 

Silas J. Now Hiram here aint never been no count 
on the farm, — always was kind o' puny like, and I sor- 
ter 'lowed as how he ought to make a good scholar, seein' 
as he aint fit for nothin' else. 

Mrs. M. Oh I'm sure he will, sir. He has such a high 



8 The Rhodes Scholar 

and intelligent-looking forehead; just like my poor dear 
husband. 

Silas J. Urn — wall, yes, Mam, I suppose he has. He 
had his hair cut yistidday. But what I wanted to do was 
to get Hiram a good place to stay. Since his mother 
died last June, he's always been — . 

Mrs. M. (Impulsively and with clasped hands.) Oh 
sir, are you laboring under the shadow of bereavement 
too? You don't know T how I sympathize with you. 

Silas J. (Moving his chair a bit further away and 
looking slightly nervous.) Yes, Mum ; that's kind in ye, 
Mum ; thank ye, Mum. Hem ! Hem ! But as I was sayin', 
the president up to the school he said as how you run a 
good house, and Hiram he—. 

Mrs. M. Well, Mr. Jenks, I do try to do the best in 
my power. During the lifetime of my poor, dear hus- 
band I lived as a lady should. I never thought then that 
I would ever be keeping a boarding house. But we poor 
mortals never know what we'll come to. (Cries into the 
corner of her apron.) 

Silas J. (Patting the air in the direction of Mrs. 
Miles' shoulder.) Thar now, Mum; I wouldn't carry on 
so. I've knowed some boarding house keepers that was 
real nice wimmen, I have so. And I'll be real pleased 
to have Hiram stay here. Now about what will his board 
bill be? 

Mrs. M. Well, sir, it seems almost a disgrace to be 
charging people for staying in one's house, and in the 
lifetime of my poor, dear husband I never would have 
thought of doing such a thing, but we must adjust our- 
selves to our circumstances, so I usually charge the boys 
$75 for each semester. 

Silas /. (In deep thought.) Uh huh. 

Mrs. M. Perhaps you would like to see the room. It's 
just to your right up the hall stairs. I'll run up and open 
the curtains. 

(Exit, L.) 



The Rhodes Scholar 9 

Silas J. (As he and Hiram prepare to ascend,) Son, 
I don't hardly see the use o' you havin' a semester. I 
bought ye a good suit and a pair o' shoes before we left 
home, and yer Aunt Hanner knit ye three pairs o' socks, 
and I don't just know that ye'll need anything else. But 
if the boys here have semesters I'll get ye one too, even 
if it does cost §75. I won't let nobody say that the son 
o' the Committeeman o' Possum Center lacked any o' 
the modern conveniences, by Heck. 

(Exeunt Silas J. and Hiram, L.) 

(Door bell rings and Mame ushers in Mr. Otis Barker 
and Henry.) 

Mame. Jest set down, you two. Mrs. Miles she's 
showin' a couple o' country rubes over the premises, but 
I guess she'll be back in a few minutes. Gee* but them 
is hay-seeds, Mister. ( Coquet tishly.) You know I've 
been livin' in this here college town for so long that I 
can tell a educated party the minute I set eyes on him. 
I says to myself when I seen you two, there's a couple o' 
real swells, I says, and I hope they board here, I says. 
But Gee, if Mrs. Miles would ketch me a-talkin' to you, 
she'd—. 

(Hasty exit, L.) 

Henry. Don't you feel puffed up and complimented, 
Dad? Too bad she didn't stay long enough for us to 
thank her, though. 

Otis B. She is rather an interesting specimen. But 
be serious a moment, son, I want to talk to you. 

Henry. I'll be as serious as I can, Dad, but it's an 
awfully hard job. 

Otis B. Listen. You have been wondering why I 
moved you away from the f rat house into a private board- 
ing place, and you have been wondering why I have 
taken the pains to come up here to school with you this 
year and see that you get settled properly, haven't you? 

Henry. Why yes, Dad, it did seem sort o' queer. 
Mighty good of you though. 



10 The Rhodes Scholar 

Otis B. Well, listen and I'll tell you. (Pause.) 
Twelve years ago last December your older brother was 
awarded the Rhodes scholarship from this state. You 
knew that, didn't you? 

Henry. Yes, I had heard of it. 

Otis B. Three months later he died. Both your mother 
and myself have always been passionately fond of edu- 
cation, and when Ralph received that scholarship we felt 
that we had reached the happiest moment of our lives. 
And when he died, our grief at losing him was increased 
by the fact that our family had been deprived of the op- 
portunity of being represented in that little band of young 
men who comprise the very flower of our country's in- 
tellect. 

Henry. I was just a little shaver then, wasn't I, Dad. 

Otis B. Yes, you were about nine years old. You 
looked very much like Ralph; you had his ways and ac- 
tions. And as you came up through the grammar school 
and high school standing at the head of your class all 
the time, I began to think that perhaps my dream would 
not be denied me after all. You are now entering on 
your senior year at college. Three months from now the 
examinations for the Rhodes scholarship will be given. 
You have ninety days in which to freshen up. I want 
you to stay here where you won't be disturbed and work 
harder than you've ever worked before. Pass your ex- 
aminations and I'll do my best to get you the appoint- 
ment. What do you say? 

Henry. (After a pause.) Dad, you're a brick. (Shak- 
ing hands.) It's the hardest thing in the world for me 
to be serious and work, but I'll try, as much for your 
sake as anything. 

Otis B. Well, I don't believe that landlady is coming 
and I'll have to catch my train. I ordered you a room 
several weeks ago, though, so I suppose it's ready. Good- 
bye now, son, and work hard. 

(Exit, R.) 

Henrv. Work hard. What do I know about work? 



The Rhodes Scholar 11 

But I must get that scholarship for the sake of mother 
and Dad. By George, I will do it! 

{Enter Mrs. M., L.) 

Mrs. M. Why how do you do, sir. This is Mr. 
Barker, I suppose? 

Henry. Yes, and this is Mrs. Miles ; I'm glad to meet 
you. 

Mrs. M. Your father wrote and ordered a room for 
you and I gave you the best one in the house. It has a 
great big window on the south and it gets all the sun 
there is. My poor, dear husband used to say that one 
could study better if his room was bright and sunshiny. 
Poor fellow r , he isn't enjoying sunshine now. (Weeps.) 

Henry. But perhaps — ah — he has an abundance of — 
ah — artificial heat. 

Mrs. M. Beg pardon, sir? 

Henry. I say I'm sure Til like my room very much, 
and I'm sure my stay — . 

Nell. (At door.) Pardon me, Aunty, but you are 
wanted ta the phone. 

(Henry turns around, sees the girl, and stares at her. 
Mrs. Miles and ^J ell leave the room, L.) 

Henry. Good night, am I asleep or not? I guess not! 
But believe me, that was a good looking maiden. And 
she said "Aunt." Guess she must live here. Am I lucky? 
Oh no! I guess it's up to me to find out a few things. 
(Hurries to door, and being occupied with papers in his 
pocket nearly falls over Billy, who is backing in on his 
hands and knees, leading a small kitten.) 

Billy. Why don't you watch where you're going? Do 
you think this is a football game? 

Henry. Oh I beg your pardon, old chap. Didn't mean 
to do it, I'm sure. By the way, you live here, do you? 

Bilty. (Much interested in his pet.) Uh huh. 

Henry. What do they call you?' 

Billy. (Still interested.) Billy. 



12 The Rhodes Scholar 

Henry. Say, Billy, I've come here to stay all winter; 
don't you think we'd better get to be good friends? 
(Billy looks at Henry, but does not anszt'er.) Say, Billy. 

Billy. Huh? 

Henry. There's an awfully pretty girl lives here, isn't 
there ? 

Billy. How do you know? 

Henry. I saw her a few minutes ago. What's her 
name, Billy? 

Billy. (Very meditatively.) They're selling the best 
bananas down town now for fifteen cents a dozen. 

Henry. Billy, you're a diplomat. You ought to be 
filling a position of state. (Gives him some money.) 
What did you say her name was? 

Billy. I said it was Helen Farris Andrews ; I call her 
Nell for short. 

Henry. Nell! Gee,' that's a pretty name. Does she 
live here? 

Billy. Uh huh, she's my sister. We stay with Aunt 
Jane. 

Henry. Your Sister? Well, Billy, you and I have just 
got to be good friends. Suppose we go down town and 
see if they haven't got some ice cream they don't want, 
and on the way you'll tell me about Nell, won't you? 

(Exeunt, R.) 
CURTAIN. 






The Rhodes Scholar 13 

ACT II. 

Time — Next morning, just after breakfast. 
Scene — Same as Act I. Enter Hiram, L., 
wiping his month and with a toothpick. 

Hiram. They've got the dog-gondest funniest grub, 
and the dog-gondest way o' eatin' it here at this place 
that I ever seen. Who ever heard o' eatin' oranges with 
a spoon, and I'll bet Dad's old muley cow wouldn't touch 
that wad o' dried grass that Mrs. Miles called shredded 
wheat biscuit. Biscuit! Land o' Goshen, if that's the 
best biscuit they can make — . I wish I had a couple o' 
slices o' fried ham and a plate o' hominy, by Heck. That 
beefsteak would make good chewing gum for a buzz 
saw. I'm so hungry I could eat — . 

{Enter Jack, L.) 

Jack. Hello there, Skinny. I had an idea I would 
find you in here. 

Hiram. Mornin'. 

Jack. Now look here, you infant beef trust, Mrs. 
Miles said you were to be my room mate, didn't she? 

Hiram. Uh huh. 

Jack. Never say "uh huh" to a superior class man. 
Say "yes, sir." 

Hiram. Yes, sir. 

Jack. Well, that's better. Perhaps you'll learn a few 
things in the course of an eon or so. But good night, 
to think that Jack Williams, the president of the Sopho- 
more class, has got to room with it. Verily the gods do 
fill to overflowing my cup of bitterness. But if I've got 
to live for nine months in company with this lump of 
ignorance, I might as well try to infuse into it some of 
the cardinal principles of civilization. Say, you. 

Hiram. What do you — I mean sir? 

Jack. What part of this mundane sphere do you claim 
as your place of nativity? 

Hiram. What — I mean sir? 



14 The Rhodes Scholar 

Jack. Ye gods, note the ignorance of the creature. I 
said where do you hail from? 

Hiram. Oh, Possum Center; Pap he's committeeman. 

Jack. Possum Center, oh pickles ! Well, I guess we 
must make the best of it. Now see here, Jenks, I want 
to have a little private and confidential talk with you for 
your own good. 

Hiram. Yes, sir. 

Jack. Now listen. Fm a pretty important man on this 
campus. I'm president of the Sophomore class, and the 
Sophs are by far the best class in school. Well what I 
wanted to say was this: it wouldn't be right for a man 
in my position to have a room mate who could pose as 
the only original rube in captivity, so I'm going to make 
a few suggestions which I expect to be carried out. Do 
you understand? 

Hiram. Yes, sir. 

Jack. In the first place we'll take up the matter of 
clothes. That suit of yours ought to be in a museum ; 
its a relic of the days of barbarism. 

Hiram. Why what's the matter with it? Pap got it 
just the other day and paid $9.98 for it, and they threw 
in a pair of suspenders. 

Jack. I thought so ; but my dear boy, the fashions in 
vogue at Possum Center are hardly the same as the ones 
here, so you will please furnish yourself with two new 
suits, one for school and the other for dress occasions. 
Do you hear? 

Hiram. (Resignedly.) Yes, sir. 

Jack. And now something else. Paper collars went 
out of date the year after Columbus discovered America, 
I think it was, and that tie of yours would scare a train 
off the track. Those shoes are hardly the kind for a 
college man, and as for that hat you wear, I strongly 
advocate your taking it out and burying it. Make a note 
of all these little matters, and govern yourself accord- 
ingly. 

Hiram. I guess Dad will stand for it. 



The Rhodes Scholar 15 

Jack. Then there's something else. I — well, I am 
something of a ladies' man myself, and as my room mate 
you will have to know a few things along the line of 
society. (Actions of consternation by Hiram.) Now 
suppose you and I were walking down the street and we 
met a crowd of college girls, what would you do? 

Hiram. (After a pause and consideration.) Run. 

Jack. If you did, I'd kick you all the way home. You 
must walk by them on the outside of the walk and tip 
your cap like this. See? Now suppose I represent the 
young ladies, let's see what you would do. (Hiram very 
awkwardly goes through the performance.) Shades of 
Socrates, I'd be everlastingly disgraced ! You get up be- 
for the looking glass' and practice tipping your cap an 
hour a day, do you hear? 

Hiram. I don't think I'll ever learn how. 

Jack. Oh yes you will ; you've got to. And there's 
just one thing more. You've got to find you a girl some- 
where. 

Hiram. Oh Mr. Williams, I'll do anything else, but 
please don't make me go with a girl. Please, I can't do it. 

Jack. I can't help it, my young Adonis, you've got it 
to do. You can't be a college boy and not have a girl. 
Keep your lamps open and freeze on to one; see? 

(Exit, R.) 

Hiram. Me git a girl ! Land o' Goshen I don't believe 
I want to go to college. But Pap said I had to be edi- 
cated, and Williams said I couldn't be edicated and not 
have a girl, so I guess I'll have to hunt one up. But good 
land, what girl would I want to go with? (Pause.) And 
I wonder what girl would want to go with me. Now 
that girl what works here is a right likely lookin' critter. 
I wonder — . (Enter Mame, L.) Good land! 

Mame. Why good mornin' Mr. Jenks, I didn't expect 
to have the pleasure o' findin' you in here. Will I bother 
you if I clean things up a little? 

Hiram. No, Mum, I was jest lettin' my breakfast set- 
tle. 



16 The Rhodes Scholar 

Mame. Yes, a few moment's quiet after a meal is sech 
a aid to digestion. But we workin' ladies never have no 
time to loaf if we was goin' to die. 

Hiram. (Sighing deeply.) It must be tumble to have 
to work all the time. 

Mame. Oh Mr. Jenks, you aint got no idea how fagged 
out and lonesome we do git. We git about as much at- 
tention paid to us as a lightning rod peddler. 

Hiram. (Pulling a sack of candy from his pocket and 
offering her a piece.) Oh now, Miss Binks, don't get so 
worked up. I like you real well, and I think you're the 
nicest kind of a girl. 

Mame. Oh, Mr. Jenks, you're so kind. You aint got 
no idea how them words of human sympathy cheer one 
up. I don't mind workin' myself to death if I know 
there's somebody who cares somethin' about me. 

Hiram. Don't you never get no time to rest up? 

Mame. Oh I have my Thursday evenings off, but all 
I can do is jest sit up in my room and mope, 'cause no- 
body never comes to see me nor take me anywheres. 

Hiram. Ain't they got no picture shows here, nor 
nothin' you can go to? We had one at Possum Center. 

Mame. Oh sure, there's the movies and vaudeville 
too, but of course no lady would go by herself, and I aint 
got no girl friends. 

Hiram. ( Swallowing desperately. ) Well — er — 
could you — I mean would it be all right — er — I mean 
could I take you next Thursday night? 

Mame. Why sure, Mr. Jenks, I'd be delighted to beat 
the band. I'm jest crazy about the movies. 

Hiram. Well, I've got to go to school now. Dr. 
Thompson said I had to registrate or something like 
that. Don't forget next Thursday night. 

(Exit, R.) 

Mame. Well, (gum action) he's a rube and he's fat 
and he's far from bein' handsome and swell looking, but 
he'll do for a beau as long as he don't get tight with the 



The Rhodes Scholar 17 

cash. A lady in my position can't afford to be too hard 
to please. 

{Enter Nell and Henry, L., talking. M.ame looks at 
them critically a moment, then softly makes her exit, R.) 

Nell. Yes, this is my first year here at Clinton, Mr. 
Barker, and everything seems rather strange, you know. 

Henry. I believe Mrs. Miles said you had been attend- 
ing the Washburne Ladies College, didn't she ? 

Nell. Yes, but you know, Mr. Barker, a girls' board- 
ing school has its disadvantages and — . 

Henry. Well I should say it does. I know if I had to 
be shut up in a stupid old jail where I couldn't get the 
sight of a girl but about once a week — er — I mean — . 

{Enter Billy, L., with his books. He goes over to table 
and begins to write.) 

Nell. Oh you've given yourself away, sir. I'm afraid 
you're a dreadful flirt and a regular heart-breaker. 

Henry. Honest, Miss Andrews, cross my heart and 
hope to die if I'm not the most timid of mortal men. But 
I have a very strong appreciation for the beautiful, and 
how could you blame me for being in the dumps if I had 
to forego the sight of the most beautiful creatures that — . 

Nell. Oh there you go again. That's the way with 
you men; I know you, even if I have been exiled in a 
boarding school. You needn't think that we poor, weak 
women are entirely susceptible to flattery. 

Henry. There, I told you I was bashful and didn't 
know how to say the right things. I am always saying 
just the opposite from what I ought to. Won't you teach 
me the proper style of conversation to use when talking 
to a beautiful and charming young lady? 

Nell. Why, Mr. Barker, I'm afraid I'm not acquainted 
with that style. 

Henry. Well, then I'll be more than pleased if you 
teach me the kind you like. 

Nell. Teaching never was an accomplishment of mine ; 
besides, you might not prove an apt pupil. 



18 The Rhodes Scholar 

Henry. Oh I'm sure — . 

Nell. No, you just think you're sure. But it's time 
for the first hour class now; if we don't hurry we'll be 
late. If you really want to learn, you may pay your tui- 
tion fee by carrying my books up to college and if you 
are real attentive you may acquire a few grains of wis- 
dom by absorption. 

{Exeunt Nell and Henry, R.) 

Billy. {Looking up from table.) Huh, I believe he 
wants to be big sis's feller, and I believe she wants him 
to be her feller. I don't know whether I want him to 
be or not. {Pulls coins from pocket.) Let's see. He's 
been here two days and has given me four nickles. If 
he stays the whole year I'll have enough to buy a goat. 
I guess it will be all right if he wants to go with her. 

{Sighs and starts out, L.) 
CURTAIN. 



ACT III. 

Tims: — The first week in November, and two 
two weeks before the Rhodes scholarship ex- 
aminations. 

Scene — A portion of the Clinton College cam- 
pus. Henry and Nell discovered seated on a 
bench. Students passing quietly to and fro at 
back of stage. 

Nell. Just think, Mr. Barker, we have been going to 
school two months now. It doesn't seem possible, does 
it? 

Henry. Yes, we have been here two months, and ac- 
cording to my idea, two months is a long enough time 
for a young lady to learn to call a fellow by his first 
name, especially if they board at the same place. Be- 
sides, I think "Henry" sounds a lot better than "Mr. 
Barker." What do you think about it, — Nell? 

Nell. Well I should think that would be a matter of 



The Rhodes Scholar 19 

individual opinion; but if you really wish it, I shouldn't 
like to be stubborn. 

Henry. The time has gone by in a hurry, hasn't it? 
Two months ! 

Nell. I don't see how the time could hang very heavy 
on your hands. You don't do anything but play tennis 
all afternoon ; and you take me to the theater or a party 
or entertainment on an average of four nights a week. 
No, I would not say that you are seriously bored. Tell 
me, do you ever study? 

Henry. (Starting.) Study? Me study? Er — oh 
yes, I study a great deal. It's — so delightful to get up 
in the fresh morning hours. One's mind is so — er — 
clear, you know. 

{Hiram and Jack pass across, L.-R., and tip their 
caps.) 

Nell. Talk about the college being a potent factor in 
our civilization! It certainly has been the transforma- 
tion of Mr. Jenks. 

Henry. Old Tubby has come out of the sticks, hasn't 
he? 

(Enter Berta and Ralph Waldo, talking.) 

Berta. I tell you, Waldy, you can't hold your racquet 
that way and serve an out. Hold it well down toward 
the end of the handle and swing it this way. (She il- 
lustrates. Ralph dodges and tries to follow her ex- 
ample.) 

Nell. Why hello, Berta; good evening, Mr. Mont- 
morcy. Are you people out for a game ? I wish I knew 
how to play tennis. 

Ralph. Yes, it is a very delightful recreation, don't 
you know. I am a confirmed devotee of the sport. Miss 
Morris has kindly consented to show me a few of the 
finer points this afternoon. I am not what you would 
call an expert, but I certainly do enjoy playing. 

Berta, No, Waldy, you don't enjoy playing. What 
you enjoy is standing out in the middle of the court and 



20 The Rhodes Scholar 

waving your racquet around like you were trying to 
flag a milk wagon. 

Nell. Oh I'm sure Mr. Montmorcy is a very graceful 
player. 

Ralph. Ah, thank you, Miss Andrews. Tennis ah — 
is very conducive to ah — developing a proper bodily 
poise, don't you know. 

Berta. Now, Waldy, that "proper bodily poise" is all 
right, and I admit you prance around on the court like 
a ballet dancer, but take it from me, that doesn't get 
you any place at all when it comes to having a score 
called itf your favor. 

Ralph. Why, Miss Morris, I don't play . tennis so 
much to ah — win, you know, as for the exercise any- 
way. Now I admit I haven't a very effective stroke — . 

Berta. No, Waldy, you haven't. I'll agree to that 
statement any day on the calendar. It may shock your 
dignity to some extent, but I feel it my duty to tell you 
that you put about as much force behind your strokes 
as a two-months-old kitten batting a spool. But you may 
improve, and if you ever get to the point where you can 
hit a straight ball over the net without doing a modifi- 
cation of the grizzly bear and the turkey trot, I shan't 
feel that I have spent my time in vain. (Adieus.) Come 
on, Waldy, it's time we were on the court. Now listen; 
let your first ball be just as hard as it wants to, but sure 
to always play the second one safe ; understand ? 

(Exeunt, L.) 

(During this conversation Henry has been sitting in 
a thoughtful, abstract mood. His attitude from now on 
is the same.) 

Nell. (Laughing.) Poor Mr. Montmorcy, I certain- 
ly pity him. Berta is a strenuous person to say the least, 
and her figures of speech are expressive even if they are 
rather startling. (Slight pause.) Oh, by the way, 
Henry, you promised to tell me the story of that play we 
are going to see tonight. I'm just crazy to hear it. 



The Rhodes Scholar 21 

Henry. Oh I don't — I mean you wouldn't enjoy see-, 
ing it then. 

Nell. Yes I would, ever so much more. 

Henry. Oh, I have forgotten it. (Puts his head in his 
hands.) 

Nell. Henry! (He looks up.) Henry, what is the 
matter with you? You are as cross as a bear. (Rises to 
leave.) ' I don't like to stay with sulky people. 

Henry. Oh, pardon me, Nell. (Rises.) I — . 

Nell. Xo, sir, you .stay right here and finish your fit 
of pouts. I am perfectly able to walk home by myself, 
thank you. 

(Tosses her head and exit, R.) 

Henry. (Gazing helplessly after her.) Oh, help, 
what made her ask me if I ever studied ! Study ? Why 
I haven't opened a book for a month, and the Rhodes 
scholarship examinations are barely two weeks ofif. What 
makes me such an easy-going chap ? Why haven't I been 
boning up? But it's just like me. I put things ofif and 
put things off until it's too late to accomplish anything. 
Oh I'm not worth killing. I don't mind losing the schol- 
arship on my own account, but what will mother and 
father think? 

(He sinks to the bench and buries his face in his hands. 
Otis Barker slowly enters, R., sees Henry, and walks over 
to him. Henry raises his head and sees his father stand- 
ing in front of him.) 

Henry. Father! (He holds out his hand, but Otis B. 
disregards it.) 

Otis B. Son, (I,ong pause; Henry hangs his head.) 
today has brought me the greatest disappointment I have 
ever experienced. (Enter Billy, L., who stops to listen.) 
I ran down here this morning to see for myself how well 
you were getting in condition for the Rhodes examin- 
ations, and you know what I found. (Henry nods and 
sinks doiK.ni upon bench.) Your professors have all told 
me that your work is scarcely above passing, and I 






22 The Rhodes Scholar 

learned from another source that you possibly have not 
studied three whole hours this term. Is that so? {Henry 
nods.)' I have also discovered from your landlady the 
reason. {Henry starts.) I learned that you have al- 
lowed a silly, frivolous, girl to influence you to such an 
extent that you forgot your promise to me, and have 
crushed the hopes w T hich your mother and I have cher- 
ished for years. 

Henry. Oh, I know I deserve all that's coming to me, 
dad, but you must not say anything about Nell. You 
don't know her ; you have never seen her or you wouldn't 
talk about her like that. Why dad, she is the sweetest 
and dearest creature that ever breathed; she is a thou- 
sand times too good for a worthless fellow like me, 
and — . 

Otis B. That will do, son. I see from your sense- 
less ravings that you are infatuated beyond hope. "The 
dearest, sweetest creature that ever breathed!" Do you 
mean to say that a girl can be anything but an adven- 
turous flirt — . 

Henry. Father ! 

Otis B. {Stopping Henry with a zvave of his hand.) — 
who would deliberately wreck a young man's prospects 
and the hopes of his parents simply that she might have 
a good time? Bah! 

Henry. But father — . 

Otis B. Listen, son. You have never received any- 
thing but the most careful rearing, the most favorable 
opportunities from your mother and myself. Although 
this was our duty as parents, we did look forward to 
some remuneration from you in the shape of a brilliant 
career. But it appears that you have ceased to care for 
us, ceased to think of your own future welfare, and that 
you would rather be a slave to a silly, childish infatuation 
than to be winning a name of honor and distinction for 
yourself. 

Henry. But listen, father. 

Otis B. Just one moment. The Rhodes examinations 



The Rhodes Scholar 23 

are to be held in two weeks. You are going to take them. 

Henry. But I haven't a chance in the world to pass. 
I—. 

Otis B. I am sorry. That is your fault, however. 
But listen. You shall take the examinations, and if you 
do not pass them, (Pause.) you need not come home 
any more, and you need not write home any more. 
(Henry buries face in hands.) You could have passed 
the examinations if you had worked. As you have failed 
in your duty and have disregarded the rights of your 
parents, you must suffer the penalty. That is all. 

(Exit, L.) 
Henry. I need not come home unless I pass the 
Rhodes examinations. I need not come home. Oh I 
didn't know it meant that. I can't pass the exams to 
save my life — and not come home. Oh why did I ever 
meet Nell ! But I'm not sorry I met her, no I'm not. A 
fellow has a right to fall in love with a girl, and it's not 
fair in dad to be so hard with me. But I could have 
studied more. It's just my confounded laziness. Oh, I 
wish I knew what to do. And not go home — not go 
home. 

(Exit Henry, L. Billy has listened attentively to the 
entire conversation, and in the middle of Henry's last 
speech he runs off the stage, R. Several boys and girls 
pass across, and finally Hiram slowly enters, R., reading 
a letter, just as Mame enters, L.) 

Mame. (Aside.) I've been a-wantin' to have a pri- 
vate interview with this gink for two weeks ; here's my 
chanct. (She rushes up to Hiram, who tries to pass 
without speaking, but she halts him.) Hey, Mr. Jenks, 
I'd like to have a few moments' personal conversation 
with you. 

Hiram. Why really, Miss Binks, I'm in somewhat of 
a hurry, and possibly at some other time — . 

Mame. No, this time is jest as good as any. Look 
here, Hiram Jenks, I want to know why you have de- 
serted me like you have these last two or three weeks. 



24 The Rhodes Scholar 

You aint been to see me, and you aint took me no plac^ 
for an age. Don't you like me no more, or have you 
jest been playin' with me all the time? I tell you, Hiram 
Jenks, I aint a lady to have my affections trifled with, I 
aint. 

Hiram. Why, Miss Binks, it's all a dreadful mistake. 
I am very sorry, I assure you, but really I didn't mean 
anything by my former attentions to you, and now I 
find that. on account of my social position and for other 
very good reasons our relations will have to be discon- 
tinued. As I said, I am very sorry, but it can't be helped. 
Good day. 

(He lifts his cap elaborately and exit, L.) 

Mame. (Following him with her eyes. Gum action.) 
Well, wouldn't that get your goat ! That's precisely what 
they all do. They are decent enough at first, but after a 
few weeks they get all stuck up and say their social posi- 
tions won't let them go with me any more. And to think 
o' this baby elephant addressin' me with all them big 
words, when two months ago he couldn't get up the cour- 
age to say, "Pass the butter." This here college life is 
sure spoilin' the youth of our country, but some day I'll 
find a gentleman who won't look down on a work lady. 

(Exit, R.) 

(Enter Nell and Billy, L., the latter talking excitedly 
and panting.) 

Billy. Thought I never would find you, sis. You 
ought to seen what I did. They was right here, an' he 
was all scared, an' his dad was jest as mad, an' he told 
him — . 

Nell. Billy Andrews, what are you talking about ? 

Billy. Why about Henry Barker an' his dad. 

Nell Henry? What about him? 

Billy. Why his dad come up an' give him the awful- 
lest cussin' out. 

Nell. Billy, haven't I told you not to use such words 

as that? But what was that you were trying to say? Sit 



The Rhodes Scholar 25 

down here on this bench and tell me about it. Now take 
your time and wait till you get your breath. 

Billy. Well, I was comin' along here a few minutes 
ago, an' Henry was settin' here on this bench, an' his 
father was standin' there talkin' to him, an' he was as 
mad as the dickens — oh I mean he was awful mad, an' 
he said Henry couldn't pass some kind o' zamnations. 

Nell. Examinations ! 

Billy. Uh huh; street? No that aint it. Alley? No, 
road ! Some kind o' * road zamnations ; I don't know 
what it is. 

Nell. The examinations for the Rhodes scholarship? 
{Aside.) I didn't know he was working for them. (To 
Billy.) Go on. 

Billy. Uh huh, an' his dad said the reason he couldn't 
was because a silly frizzulous girl was — . 

Nell What! 

Billy. Uh huh; silly frizzulous girl was influencin' 
him an' wreckin' his future prospects. 

Nell Did he say that, Billy? 

Billy. Uh huh, an' I never saw him with any girl but 
you, so I thought I'd better tell you about it. But you 
aint a silly frizzulous girl, are you, sis ? 

Nell. No— that is, I don't know, Billy. Be still a 
moment and let me think. (Aside, after a pause.) Oh 
I wonder if I have done something terrible. But how 
was I to know ; why didn't he tell me he came here to 
study ? 

Billy* An' sis, he said that Henry had to take the zam- 
nations, an' Henry said he couldn't pass 'em, an' his dad 
said if he didn't he couldn't come home no more. 

Nell (Turning suddenly, taking Billy by the shoul- 
ders and shaking him.) Look at me, Billy Andrews; did 
he say that? 

Billy. Honest, sis, cross my heart an' hope to die, he 
did. 

Nell Oh, just think what I have done ! What must 



26 The Rhodes Scholar 

he think of me? If he doesn't get to go home, it will be 
all my fault. Oh what shall I do, what shall I do ? 

(Enter Henry, R., with bowed head, and walking very 
slowly.) 

Billy. (Nudging Nell.) There he is now. 

Nell. (Running up and seizing Henry's arm.) Henry 
Barker, did you come here this year with the intention 
of studying for those Rhodes scholarship examinations? 

Henry. Why — er — Nell — . 

Nell. Tell me the truth, now. 

Henry. Well, I did think a little about it at first, but 
I gave up the idea quite a while ago. 

Nell. Yes, you gave it up because you wanted to make 
me have a good time. You gave it up because you 
wanted to take me places, and to keep me from getting 
lonesome. Oh your father was right when he said I was 
a silly, frivolous girl. But, Henry, I didn't know — . 

Henry. My father! how did you — . 

Nell. Billy heard you talking and told me all about it. 
He said if you did not pass the exams that your father 
would not let you come home. Was that so? 

Henry. Yes, Nell, that's what he said, but — 

Nell. Oh Henry, that is terrible. And it is all my 
fault, every bit of it. I know you must hate me for it, 
Henry, but really — . 

Henry. Hate you! Me hate you? Why, Nell, you 
know I love you better than anyone else on earth, and 
I don't care if I get chased away from home a hundred 
times, I'd keep on loving you just the same. I didn't 
mean to tell you about it till I graduated, but — . 

Nell. (Briskly.) Now Henry, this is neither the time 
nor the place for a tragic love scene. We've got to pull 
ourselves together and get you out of this scrape some 
way. I'm not entirely useless, and I'm going to show 
you that I can be something besides a silly, frivolous 
girl. 

Henry. Oh Nell — . 



The Rhodes Scholar 27 

Nell. Come over here and sit down. Now let's see. 
Tell me exactly how you stand. Can you pass the exams 
with the two weeks' preparation you can get ? 

Henry. Not if my life depended on it. 

Nell. Well, what subjects are you sure you could 
pass in? 

Henry. Why I could get by in Greek and Latin, I 
guess, and English and history, too, I suppose, but it's 
math I'd flunk in. Honest, Nell, I don't know a thing 
about that. It would take a good tutor the whole two 
weeks to get enough in my head to get by, and of course 
there's no one with the ability who has the time, so — . 

Billy. {Who has been hanging around eagerly listen- 
ing. ) Why don't you teach him, sis ? You help me, and 
you're awful good. 

Nell. Billy, you are a little dear. I hadn't thought 
about it before, but I honestly believe I could. Listen,, 
Henry, math is my favorite study and I really- do know 
something about it. Yes, sir, that's just what I'll do. 
I'll coach you up so well that you can pass any math 
exam under the sun. Come on, let's begin. 

Henry. But, Nell — . 

Nell. Don't say a word, sir. You can pass those 
Rhodes scholarship examinations and you are going to 
do it. Come on, and I'll start you on the binomial 
theorem. 

{Exeunt Nell and Henry, L. Billy follows them past 
C, then hugs himself and starts out R.) 

CURTAIN. 



28 The Rhodes Scholar 

ACT IV. 

Time — Four weeks later and two weeks after 
the Rhodes scholarship examinations. 

Scene — An informal forty-tzvo party in the 
parlor of the boarding house. As the scene 
opens Nell, Henry, Berta, Ralph, Hiram, Ruth, 
Mary and Jack are discovered just sitting down 
at the tables to play. Mrs. Miles has entered 
with the crowd. 

Jack. It sure is bully of you to let us come down here 
and play forty-two, Mrs. Miles. I haven't played for a 
long time, and IVe just been wishing I could get in a 
game. 

Mrs. M. Well, Mr. Williams, I certainly hope you 
and the rest of the crowd have a good time. As my poor, 
dear husband used to say, young people must have amuse- 
ment now and then, and although I am a poor, lone wo- 
man, w T ith a load of care and responsibility resting on 
my shoulders, there's nothing that gives me as much 
pleasure as watching a crowd of boys and girls enjoy 
themselves. It recalls the days when I was young and 
was not considered the least charming of all the young 
ladies. 

Jack. Least charming! Why I'm sure you were a 
regular belle when you were a girl, Mrs. Miles. 

Mrs. M. Ah, that's kind in you to say that, Mr. Wil- 
liams, and indeed several people have told me that I was 
not so very bad looking then, but, oh dear, how I have 
changed ! But don't let me keep you away from the fun, 
Mr. Williams. I'll just go over here in the corner and 
lenit and watch you. 

{Silent stage business at all times.) 

Ralph. Don't you know, Miss Morris, I believe forty- 
two is my favorite of all card games. 

Berta. ' Well, I'm glad to hear it. I rather like it my- 
self. 

Ralph. Yes, it's such a congenial game, don't you 



The Rhodes Scholar 29 

know, and so intellectual too. It affords excellent mental 
exercise, don't you think, and I really believe it is a very 
effective brain developer. 

Berta. Well, I hadn't thought of it in that light be- 
fore, but maybe it is. In that case you are to be com- 
mended for playing it. (Crowd gives him the laugh.) 

Hiram. Henry, old top, you haven't told all of us 
about the exams you took yet. You don't know whether 
you passed or not, do you? 

Henry. Xo, but I'm. expecting to hear any time, now, 
and the nearer the time comes for me to hear, the more 
nervous I get. You can imagine what a quiet frame of 
mind I'm in at the present moment. 

Mary. Were the exams hard, Mr. Barker? 

Henry. Well, no — that is, they were all pretty easy 
except the math ; that was a stunner. You know I was 
always an awful bone head in math, and I don't know r 
whether I made it or not. 

Ruth. Oh, Mr. Barker, I do hope you get to go to 
Oxford. 

Ralph. So do I, Henry, old chap. I'm very much in 
love with the English customs, don't you know. They 
have a certain charm and elegance which our American 
institutions lack; don't you think so, Miss Morris? 

Berta. Xo I don't. I have never been over to that 
charming country, but I have seen some specimens of 
its cultured and elegant inhabitants and some other peo- 
ple who tried to imitate them, and I've come to the con- 
clusion that the little old United States are just about 
good enough for me. There, if you've got the double 
six, please exert your mental power sufficiently to drop 
it on that six-four. 

(Ring at door bell. Exit Mrs. Miles, R., and enter 
after a moment zvith Mr. Silas Jenks.) 

Mrs. M. The young people are having a little forty- 
two party tonight, Mr. Jenks; do you play? 

Silas J. Waal, no Mum, I guess not. I used to play 
authors onct, but I almost fergit how. I didn't calculate 



30 The Rhodes Scholar 

to find you all playin' cards ; I thought you didn't do 
nothin' else at college but study. Thought I'd drap 
down and see Hiram a little while. I reckon he aint 
down here, is he ; I low as how he's mindin' his books. 

Hiram. Why sure, dad, here I am. Don't you know 
me? 

Silas J. Wall I swan ! What have ye been doin' to 
yerself ? 

Hiram. Oh I'm a college boy now, dad, and I have 
to sport up a little, you know. Don't you think I look 
real swell when I'm all dolled up this way? (Poses in 
front of him.) 

Silas J. Waal land o' Goshen ! Maybe you're gittin' 
edicated, but I don't know. 

Hiram. Dad, let me introduce you to some of my 
friends. This is Miss Philips ; Miss Andrews ; Mr. 
Barker ; and over there are Miss Morris ; Miss Carrol ; 
Mr. Montmorcy, and my room mate, Mr. Williams. 

Silas J. Good evenin'. I shore am delighted to see all 
you folks. I had a little different idea about the way o' 
gettin' a edication, but maybe I was wrong. 

Mrs. M. This is only one of their little holidays, Mr. 
Jenks. They really do study sometimes. But since you 
don't play forty-two, you must sit over here and enter- 
tain me. 

Silas J. Yes, Mum ; I'd be delighted. 

Ralph. (In loud whisper to Berta.) Mr. Jenks, seni- 
or, is a good example of the strong sturdy yeomanry of 
our country, isn't he? 

Berta. Maybe he is, but he looks like a plain every- 
day rube to me. There, watch what you're doing; 
trumps led. 

(Enter Mame, L., with plate of fudge which she passes 
around. As she leaves she turns up her nose at Hiram 
and he throws her a kiss.) 

Berta. Ralph Waldo Montmorcy, when it comes to 
boneheads, you are the only original; all others are base 



The Rhodes Scholar 31 

imitations. What in the name of the seven sleeping sis- 
ters do you mean by playing your double five when Henry 
played the highest trump. You certainly make me feel 
all tired out. 

Ralph. Oh, pardon me, Miss Berta. That was hardly 
the proper thing to do now, was it? But really, don't 
you know, I didn't have my mind on what I was doing. 
I was thinking of those charming lines of Browning — . 

Berta. Oh somebody choke him quick. No, Ralph 
Waldo, you didn't have your mind on what you were 
doing, but then I guess there's a reason. 

{Knock at door, R. } Mrs. M. answers it, and is handed 
a telegram for Henry.) 

Mrs. M. A telegram for you, Henry. 

Jack. Maybe it's word from your exams, Barker. 

(All stand around Henry. He tears the telegram open, 
reads it, and a broad grin comes over his face.) 

Henry. Here, Nell, read it out loud. 

Nell. (Reads.) "Dear son: Your examinations up 
to the required standard and your appointment assured. 
Congratulations. Otis Barker." Oh, Henry 1 

(All crowd around congratulating him. While they are 
doing this Otis Barker enters ,R.) 

Otis B. Good evening, young people. You didn't 
expect me to follow my telegram so quickly, did you? 

Henry. (Running over and shaking hands.) Father! 

Otis B. Yes, son, I came to congratulate you in per- 
son. Your exams were of the highest rank. I was espe- 
cially surprised at your grade in math for I knew that 
was your weak point. I am glad to see that you can 
forget a foolish infatuation when you care to, and con- 
centrate your mind so well. I am proud of you. 

Henry. Thank you, dad. And now I would like to in- 
troduce you to the young lady who, by her faithful coach- 
ing, made possible my pass in math, — the silly, frivolous 
girl with whom I have been infatuated, and who has at 
last promised to be my wife, — Miss Nell Andrews. 



32 The Rhodes Scholar 

Otis B. The girl coached you, did you say? Well 
you certainly have got your old dad in a hole. But per- 
mit me to beg your pardon for what I said about you 
in my ignorance, Miss Andrews, and allow me to say 
further, that now that I have seen you I can understand 
how Henry forgot to study for his examinations, and I 
don't blame him one bit. Now I suppose the most ap- 
propriate thing for me to do would be to give you my 
blessing, so I do, it with all my heart. 

(The others start to congratulate the two, when Silas 
Jenks and Mrs. Miles leave the sofa and come forward.) 

Silas J. Wall, we all don't like to be too forward, but 
we calculate that now in the midst of all this jollifica- 
tion will be as good a time as any to say what we want 
to: Me and Mrs. Miles here, havin' considered the mat- 
ter from all angles, have about come to the conclusion 
j;hat we'll hitch up for the rest of our days, too. 

Ralph. Oh, how perfectly romantic! 

Nell. Oh Aunty, congratulations. 

Mrs. M. Yes, that's what we have decided to do. I 
don't know whether my poor, dear husband would ap- 
prove of it or not, but I can't think he would have wanted 
me to remain a poor, lone widow when I have a chance 
to get a good home. (All crowd bound congratulating.) 

Jack. You people are what I call real sports. We'll 
fix up a big double wedding, and if we don't do things 
up in dandy style then I'm not president of the Sopho- 
more class. 

Silas J. I agree with ye to a "T," young man. It 
aint no more than right to my community that there 
should be a little extry doin's when the Committeeman 
of Possum Center gets married, by Heck. 

CURTAIN. 



A HIT ON YOUR NEXT PROGRAM! 

Something Out of The Ordinary 
In High-Glass Humorous Songs* 



MUSICAL SKETCHES FOR YOUNG LADIES 

By Harry C, Eldridge 

These fill .an urgent need in supplying 
musical numbers with action, for any secular 
program, for girls or ladies of any age. Clever 
words and singable music combined to make 
novel numbers for your entertainment. 

m THE HAT OF OTHER DAYS. Everyone knows how 
ridiculous the changing styles make out-of- 
date hats appear. The song is based on this 
fact, and the appearance of these "hats of 
other days" will cause loads of merriment. 

i CANT B8 A THINS WITH MY HAIR SINCE IT'S WASHED." 
Did you ever hear the above expression ? They 
all say it. This song is for a merry group of 
girls who have trouble in keeping their hair in 
bounds. A jolly song. 

REDUCED TO $1.89. The figures in a dry goods 
show window are indignant at having to par- 
ticipate in so many "reduction sales," and, 
revolting, walk off the stage after telling 
their troubles in song. The eccentric motions 
of these figures make a very laughable number. 

THE WINNING WAYS OF GRANDMA'S DAYS. Sung in 
costume, this portrays the many welcome and 
pleasing- costumes of "ye olden times." Di- 
rections for minuet included. Very enjoyable. 
Asy one of the above seat pasted on receipt sf 25 ceats. 

ELDRIDGE ENTERTAINMENT HOUSE 

Franklin, Ohio 



IBillli 

u U16 102 607 4 



" THE HOUSE THAT HELPS " 

WB ARE SPECIALISTS W 

Amateur Entertainments 

It is not a side line with us, but we 
devote our entire time to that business 



Realizing that many people have grown 
weary of searching through catalogs and read- 
ing entertainments only to discard them as 
unavailable we appreciate'the fact that our cus- 
tomers have often spoken of us as "the house 
that. helps." We have had practical exper- 
ience in selecting and producing amateur en- 
tertainments and we feel that we know what 
will please the public, and what can be pro- 
duced under certain conditions. Our expt ritace is 
at yaw disposal. Write us, giving full particulars 
of your special need in the way of an enter- 
tainment, and we will select a play, an oper- 
etta, a drill or even an entire program for you. 
But always enclose a stamp far the reply. 

Remember, that in addition to our entertain- 
ments we carry a large line of publications of 
other dealers. If in doubt as to the entertain- 
ment you desire, send particulars and 
will suggest something to fit. 
We are at your service. 

ELDRIDCE ENTERTAINMENT HOUSE 

Franklin, Ohio 



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